It is too sunny to be sat over my laptop for too long. That's why I just knocked this out in the garden on my typewriter. Forgive the typewriter obsession. The hipster in me needs to tell the world that I own and use one. Plus, have you tried using a laptop outside in the sunshine and without a battery? They're useless...
Well, isn't this just going brilliantly?
It's been about a year since I last put paper to typewriter, fingers to keys, fingers in between the keys, into the little hole where the ribbon runs, and frustrated, taken my fingers elsewhere as the pursuit of using a typewriter became unbearable,and invested in a new battery for the laptop to avoid having to use the damn typewriter. The battery has since died having been left on during a trip to Paris. Fuck yeah, I went to Paris. I told you things were going well.
So, what's news? I'm still here for a start. The greatest development has been a small dose of trying not to give too much of a shit about my situation (of not being exactly where I want to be in life). That's done a world of good. At Christmas I had a serious case of the whatthefuckamIdoinghowthefuckdoIgetoutofheres. Panic attacks, lost sleep, tears before bedtime. Nothing that everyone else hasn't gone through, I'm sure.
But the question remains, what am I doing and who am I? I spent days in an existential haze. All I say, is that's not the way to solve things. I'm all for thinking. Thinking has done some wonderful and disgusting things throughout history, of which I'm both glad and saddened by. But that shit really messes with the mind if not conducted in a safe environment and with controlled substances to aid. The discovery: I'm about as rock n roll as a cardigan and a pair of slippers. In fact, from some of the shit I get sent at work I'm not even half as cool as that. I don't drink too much (by human, as opposed to medical standards) and I don't smoke too much. (Probably too much in the eyes of my girlfriend, but you're probably aware of 12 year old kids that smoke more in a day than I can in a week.) Life's not a competition though, as I'm slowly coming to realise again.
So what has the first 12 months of working on a porn magazine brought me? Aside from an encyclopaedic knowledge of the porn players and their specialities, a new found respect for the seemingly limitless capabilities of the human form to accommodate sexual proclivities, and the ability to accurately picture the naked form of everyone that crosses my path - I've adjusted to working my first ever office based nine to five. Really. I'm 28 years old, I've worked since I was 12: delivering papers, 14: washing dishes, 16: cooking, 18 and on: bar work and teaching English... after all that, after half my life busting a nut in various situations around the world, I've finally adjusted to working in an office and I'm producing products to help fellow men and women bust a nut. (Yeah, women read porn mags.)
If from my childhood I could see my future, what would I have thought? That's pretty fucking cool! I'd imagine. But it really isn't.
